Crack Plunnies of Death HETALIA STYLE
by DiGi Kurosaki
Summary: Chapter 3: Romano and Spain visit Germany and Italy for an afternoon snack. A fight ensues.
1. First We Take Manhattan

**_(Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz)_**

_First Hetalia story! Yay! :D ...it's not really a story...probably the shortest drabble I've ever written..._

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"Alright, here's the plan..." Russia explained to the small group consisting of his sisters, the Baltic Nations, and Poland. Russia smoothed out the map, making two red circles, not noticing as America waltzed in with Germany, Canada, and France.

"W-w-w-where d-did you c-come up with this p-plan, sir?" Latvia asked, quite bravely considering his normal apprehension around the man. Russia smiled dangerously.

"I heard it in a song." The Baltics smiled in approval, afraid to do anything but. "So, first we'll take Manhattan, and then we'll take Berlin-"

America cut him off in frustration at the plan to attack him. "And then I'll take your mother, and kindly shove it in." The group jumped and faced the newcomers.

"America!" Canada gasped...he was ignored.

Belarus snarled and jumped at him with a knife, foaming slightly at the mouth while Ukraine desperately tried hold her back.

The Baltics snickered slightly and Poland burst out laughing, joining the American in a high-five. "Ur Mom joke!"

"KOL KOL KOL KOL KOL KOL KOL-" Russia growled. The three stopped dead.

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_Just a little crack story to get the creative juices flowing...don't kill me. It was on the radio and when I started thinking about it, this rhyme popped into my head. XD_

_"First we take Manhattan, and then we take Berlin..."  
"And then I'll take your mother and kindly shove it in."_

_That song strikes me as something Russia would listen to, you know? Oh and France...yeah, he's just there cause I say so. Probably molesting Canada or something...  
_

_-DiGi  
_


	2. Pancakes Pour Mon Frère, Alfred

**(Hetalia disclaimed)**

_So, I should probably be working on finishing Chapter 9 of Ridiculously Simple...BUT. it_has_been posted something about it being National Pancake Day...so plunnies swarmed._

_**NOTE:** All italics in this story are spoken with a French accent, including Alfred's name (which is also the French form, unlike Matthew and Matthieu)._

_(P.S.- I don't think America's a complete dolt. He got to be a world superpower SOMEHOW didn't he?)  
_

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_Ah, February sixteenth. It was probably the second greatest holiday in the history of holidays.

National Pancake Day.

It wasn't even his holiday, truth be told. It was America's, and damn him for having the best of everything. He didn't even like pancakes all that well (except for the styrofoam sheets they sold at McDonalds) and he didn't enjoy the taste of real maple syrup. He was always slopping that maple-flavored corn syrup on his food. Canada cringed at the thought as he attended to the skillet.

Regardless, he was spending the day in the back woods of Washington in one of Alfred's numerous plots of harbored land just so he could celebrate the wonders of Pancake Day.

As he flipped the cake expertly to the darker side, he heard the scuff of boots at the front door and the click of the latch as it was shut.

"Hey, Mattie! You still here?" he heard Alfred call.

"Kitchen!" he answered, moving to the skillet of bacon and tossing them around as well as he flipped the eggs with his free hand. Alfred watched from the archway of the kitchen in awe. Matthew had always been more adept with the stove than Alfred; a trait which had obviously been passed to him from his French ancestry and not his Anglo roots.

He leaned in the doorway. "Smells good," he commented with a smile. Matthew spared him a small glance.

"It should. This is _real _food, after all," he retorted slyly. America pouted as he waltzed in and flopped down into one of the wooden chairs seated next the table.

"I know what real food is ya jerk," he whined. Taking a moment to glance around the kitchen, he added, "You didn't invite Cuba, did ya?" Canada blinked at the question before continuing with the meal.

"No. Why would I? You two never get along," he said as he began layering pancakes on the plate to his left and pouring more batter into the sizzling pans before moving on to remove the bacon and eggs as well. He would have preferred sausage but America was adamant that they have bacon instead saying something about it being 'tastier than those burnt meat patties'.

"Well, you two have been awfully chummy lately, so I just wondered…" he grumbled, looking elsewhere and keeping the pouted lips. Canada saw this and sighed, wiping his hands on a dish towel and turning down the heat on the pancakes before turning to his brother.

"Oh, so you're jealous, eh?" America blushed, but didn't look at him. "Oh, come on, Alfred! _Tu es toujours mon meilleur ami et mon frère préféré_," Matthew chirped. Alfred frowned, blushing brighter.

"And how am I supposed to know what that means?" he asked.

Matthew smiled as he walked over and wrapped his arms around his brother's neck and squeezing him tight. "Don't act like you don't know, Mr. Melting Pot." He leaned back and turned to go back to the food but was stopped by Alfred's hand on his wrist. "Al? What is it?"

"_C'est vrai, Matthieu?_" Alfred mumbled and Matthew stared in wonderment. He knew his brother was smarter than he let on, but he never imagined that he would simply drop all pretense around him.

"_Bien sûr, Alfred. Je t'aime, mon frère_." Alfred smiled at him meekly, dropping his hand and letting Canada return to the stove before it turned into England's. "Besides, I would much rather spend time with you than Cuba. He's a good friend and all, but the smoke bothers me and he doesn't have a day to celebrate pancakes.

America jumped up with a smirk. "Why you sneaky Canadian…" he said before attacking his brothers sides. Canada dissolved into a fit of giggles as he tried to swat the hands away from the ticklish areas and cook at the same time. They both chuckled as America stopped and hugged him from behind.

"_Merci, Matthieu. Surtout pour les crêpes_," Alfred mumbled into his hair. Canada laughed.

"_De rien, mon frère Alfred._"

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_So, I love you guys still. Feel free to review. :)_

TRANSLATIONS:_  
_"_Tu es toujours mon meilleur ami et mon frère préféré" - _You are still my best friend and my favorite brother.  
"_C'est vrai, Matthieu?_" - That's true, Matthew?  
"_Bien sûr, Alfred. Je t'aime, mon frère_." - Of course. I love you, my brother.  
"_Merci, Matthieu. Surtout pour les crêpes_," - Thank you, Matthew. Especially for the pancakes.  
"_De rien, mon frère Alfred._" - You're welcome, my brother Alfred.

_HAPPY PANCAKE DAY!_

_-DiGi  
_


	3. Spanish Etiquette

**(Axis Powers Hetalia disclaimed)**

_So I learned this a long time ago, but only recently thought about it due to a post on MLIH by yaoi_queen, so this one is dedicated to her._

_Oh, Spain..._

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Now, Italy may not have ever been the brightest crayon in the box, but he wasn't deaf. When he heard that squeak of surprise, he immediately looked to Germany in confusion, noting his red face and wide eyes.

At Italy's request, Spain and Romano were visiting for a brunch of sorts, mainly because Italy wanted to spend time with his brother. But as soon as the Italian bagels were gone, all Hell had broken loose.

Spain and Romano had proceeded to shove all of their napkins and crumbs off of the table to flutter down to the floor. Spain smiled and thanked them for the meal…hence Germany's squeal.

Italy smiled brightly at the cute sound, but winced as Germany shot up from his seat in anger.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING!?" he yowled at the guests. Spain just looked a bit startled and confused while Romano immediately stood opposite the irate country, having felt that he had offended them.

"THANKING YOU, YOU POTATO-FREAK!" he growled in return.

"DON'T DUMP YOUR TRASH ON MY CLEAN FLOORS!"

"WHAT? YOU CAN'T CLEAN YOUR OWN HOUSE!?"

"D-doitsu…" Italy mumbled with tears in his eyes while Spain tried to pull Romano back from an all out battle with the other country.

"Romano!" Spain whined as he wrapped his arms under Romano's and pulled.

"OF COURSE I CLEAN MY HOUSE! THAT'S WHY I DON'T WANT YOU TWO TO DIRTY IT!"

"LAZY WURST! SPAIN WOULD CLEAN UP AFTER YOUR ASS!"

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"I _told _you to calm down, Romano," Spain teased as he cleaned the cut above the boy's left brow; it was definitely going to become a black eye. "Now you're going to have a bruise for weeks."

Romano pouted, looking anywhere but at the man. "…he'll look worse…" he muttered haughtily.

Spain chuckled. "Yeah, well, that jaw isn't going to heal for a few weeks either. Though I don't believe I have ever seen a fight where a nation pulled out another's hair like you did…"

Romano flushed.

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_So yeah. The Spanish just throw everything on the floor of snack bars (depending on the region you're in, mind you) because the business is expected to clean up...which is fun..._

_Leave a review!_

_-DiGi  
_


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